


Late Night

by Hermione14



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Stark Tower, receptionist - Freeform, this doesn’t really fit anywhere in the mcu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermione14/pseuds/Hermione14
Summary: OC is a receptionist at Stark Towers and finally meets the boss man—though it’s more embarrassing than she would have hoped.





	Late Night

When I was deep into the words, altering my already carefully constructed prose I didn't hear the clock at all. The clacking of the keyboard as my fingers sprawled across the keys drowned out all outwardly distractions. It was the brief pauses in between where the ticking drove me to madness. Each second a second I should be editing, instead of sitting here with the creativity siphoned off of me. The thing about writing was every moment you weren't writing there lived a treacherous fear just under your skin that that ability wouldn't return when you summoned it. It always did—save for that first semester of college I had sworn of writing because it wasn't "sensible."

Now the words are necessary. Who cares if I'm a fucking secretary? At least I still do what I love. On company time with the fastest working wifi I have ever been blessed with. I doubt Tony Stark is bothered by my unethical use of his wifi, though never having met the guy I can't say for sure. There are two other secretaries between me and him so the chances are I will never be graced by his presence.

Despite the convenience the clock is only growing louder, my eyes are already growing heavier. Though the chances of getting home and feeling the writing urge was certainly probable, which would be most unfortunate with the internet currently down. Writing on paper would not be the end of the world, just a pain to transfer to the computer. 

In waiting for a decision to come into fruition I lean back in my swivel chair, proceeding to close my eyes. As black envelops my vision like a hug I contemplate drifting off to dream land in this very position. At least then I definitely would not be late for work...

This modicum of relaxation is ended with the DING of the elevator jerking me back to consciousness, a string of expletives accompanying it due to the shock. I push against my desk to the back wall that reads Stark Industries, grabbing a pair of scissors to brandish at the intruder just in time for a figure to emerge.

Admittedly half asleep I hold my breath as Tony Stark comes into view under the light at my desk. Shit.

"Cursing at the boss? I think that's a fire-able offense, and—woah, a weapon, too? I'm calling the avengers." Tony Stark jokes, raising his eyebrows as he leans against my reception desk. 

I stare at the scissors in horror as if I could she my own shameful reflection in them before practically throwing them back where they belong. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. It was my understanding everyone had left, you see..." 

"Not me, burning the midnight oil, as are you apparently," My night of bad luck only worsens as, to my horror, Tony Stark leans over my desk to view my computer screen. I swivel back, closing out of the tab. "Ahh, fan fiction. I understand."

"I'm a writer." I say, originally attempting to sound prideful however it just comes out pathetic. I might as well be writing crummy fan fiction if I'm never getting published anyways. 

To my surprise he doesn't look judgmental, instead intrigued. Still the next words out of his mouth are still dripping with sarcasm, "You see I would have expected a writer to come up with something more original than a knife against a potential threat."

I blink at him, alternating between remaining professional or matching his smug wit. Plastering a smirk on my face I rest my chin in my left hand in a way I pray is casually cool. "The scissors were more for show. My real weapon is my bone crushing strength."

He tilts his head slightly. "So you could win a fight against—let's say—Iron Man?"

"I'm pretty strong."

With a chuckle he slaps the desk. "You make a compelling argument. We should recruit you for the avengers."

"Wow, three jokes about you being in the avengers. You're really just going to milk that for all it's worth, huh?" I say, leaning forward subconsciously. 

"Pleas forgive me, it's really the only thing I have going for me other than my multi-billion dollar company, overall intellectual genius, and stunning physique." He smirks. "Wanna see?"

Before I can reply a black, long car pulls up to the curb, honking twice then falling silent. 

"I believe your ride is here, Mr. Stark." 

He sighs, detaching himself from the top of the desk to pull on his coat. "The way you say Mr. Stark has me all hot and bothered." 

"Goodnight, Mr. Stark."


End file.
